WWJWD
After the mohawked kid leaned in to order them out, the exhibitionist – Leo – fixed Adler with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you said we were safe here?” “We are,” the medic offered a shrug. “But tha crew chief just ordered us tah move. Sistah Lyen, kindly lead tha way.” Kate/Yeva followed the nun in silence. All the while, her mind worked overtime on the possibilities. Sabotage was distinctly probable. Anyone from a dock worker to the pump jockey who fueled them up could’ve planted the seed for their undoing. She’d also heard the former mechanic apparently had an Alliance history. He’d left the boat in one big hurry…which might’ve opened up an opportunity that proved just a little too convenient. Now, Marisol was isolated. Dorian would eventually be distracted with her care. And of course, she knew enough to understand that the ship would soon lie dead in space, days out from the Skyplex or any planet. The perfect place to be set upon and eliminated…”another Reaver attack.” Being hustled into the close quarters of a shuttle with everyone might prove just the opportunity she needed to root out a saboteur or an alliance operative. The widow’s guise was perfect for observing without being forced to give too much of herself away. As she was ushered into the shuttle, Kate/Yeva gasped. The place reeked of stale sex. Erotic underwear was scattered about the floor, as were sex toys of numerous sizes and colors. Rubber phalluses, riding crops, and oversized beads all lay strewn about, some dripping or slathered with lubricants that left puddles or goo on every surface. The bedsheets were their own horror show of oil marks and stains. She could see it all, except for the portion upon which sat a tiny, one eyed child. Since assuming this identity, Kate had frequently asked herself the question “what would a Jewish widow do in this situation?” This time, she had no need to ask. The Widow Schnabel was silent as she stepped into the room. With hasty movements belying a deepening anger, she scooped up all of the decadent flotsam. Rubber and plastic toys landed upon the soiled sheets, along with the discarded underwear and BDSM leather clothing. A silent black fury propelled her through the shuttle, snatching up all the illicit material before pitching it onto the bed. The pillow cases were next. Once she’d stripped them off the pillows, Yeva used them as impromptu rags to wipe the night tables, chairs, and any flat surface she found polluted. Having served their purpose, the pillow cases landed atop the pile on the bed. “Forgive me, hamuda,” Yeva said to the one eyed child as she directed her off the bed’s edge. Before the gaping silence of the adults, she pulled up the sheet corners, then tied them together in a large bundle. She then slung the whole thing over her shoulder before carrying it to a nearby storage locker. The top shelf held an old blanket. Though it contained the must of years in the locker, she still found it preferable as she spread it over the bed. “There,” the widow told the two children in the shuttle. “Now you sit.”